


Head Canon Snippets for OTP Bagginshield.

by Bead



Series: Pearl of the Evening [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Family, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Multi, Other, Romance, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/pseuds/Bead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking tumblr OTP prompts!  They were getting long, so I am posting them here.  </p><p>Chapter 1.  Dis meets Billa for the first time<br/>Chapter 2.  What first attracted Billa to Thorin?<br/>Chapter 3.  How does Thorin react to The Longing, which he feels the closer he gets to Bag End?<br/>Chapter 4.  How do Fili and Kili react to Thorin and Billa's courtship/enagement.<br/>Chapter 5.  What does Thorin think, on the Carrock, after Gandalf works his magic?<br/>Chapter 6.  Billa from "Feast" has something to tell Thorin.<br/>~~~~~<br/>November Headcanon Closed.  Please stop by my tumblr Dec 1 to play next month!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Namadul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> niquesse asked: Hello Bead! I was wondering that in the Pearl-universe, is there a Dís, and if there is, how would she react, when she arrives to Erebor (because of course everyone survives, why wouldn't they), to a tiny hobbit lass already married to her brother? Would she give Billa a hard time, testing her so she could decide whether this female is worthy of her brother and his great heart, or would she be instantly warming up to her, content with Thorin's choice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glosssary:  
> Namad = Sister  
> Namadul = Sister in law
> 
> Thanks to determamfidd for Khuzdul help!

~~~~

When she arrives, the first thing she hears is Thorin's laughter, followed by her sons', who break the informal welcome tableau to rush forward and pluck her off her pony. Eventually, they're able to let go of one another, Dís dries her eyes, and her boys lead her to greet the others. 

Thorin is several steps ahead of everyone else, his wife with her hand in the crook of his arm, as if they’d walked several steps forward and decided to let her have a longer moment with the boys. He looks so well, so kingly, and so happy. 

Billa is small but sturdy-looking, lovely in an exotic way, and she’s dressed as a proper married dwarrow, her hair in elaborate braids and their parents wedding beads. It makes her heart jump a little with gladness to see them in her tawny hair. Thorin has an arm wrapped around her shoulders and the smile on his face is still sadly startling. Billa looks...secure. Secure in herself, in where she is, in Thorin, and she has a shy smile for Dís.

Dís greets her brother, oh, the longest hug, choking back sobs. "You are so happy," comes out in a rush before she can think about it. 

"Beyond my wildest hopes," he whispers back, his voice choked with emotion. “Welcome home, namad, welcome home.” She grins at him through her tears, wipes a few from his cheeks, and adds a smack to the back of his head for getting her sons injured, and turns to her new sister. 

"Dís, may I present my wife, Belladonna of Erebor." 

Billa puts out both her hands to grasp hers. "You are so very welcome, your highness. You've been greatly missed by your family, and I've so looked forward to meeting you. I'm afraid the boys have told me half the good stories already, but I'd love to hear them from your side!" 

Thorin groans and kisses the side of Billa's head. "Please, please, no more horrible stories for at least a day." 

Billa grins up at her. "I should probably tell you we were all so excited we didn't sleep much last night. Terrible, terrible stories were told. I did my best to defend you, as a fellow female, from boyish complaints." 

Dís nods gravely. "You do me a great service, your majesty, for these lads, all three of them, have run wild, so wild, for so long. I’m not sure how you managed not to kill them, traveling with them for months." 

"For a good bit of the trip, I had no idea how to use a sword,” Billa replies, equally sober. “And then, there’s Dwalin, I’d never make it past him.” She sighs. “At least they're relatively well groomed.” 

"Oh no," Kili groans. "Oh no, what have we done? Uncle, separate them, quickly." 

"Oh no you don't!" Billa replies in a steely voice "The last good chat I had with a female was a _sheep_ ," She looks back at Dís, ignoring her husband, who is now snickering into her scalp. "I would very much like for you to come have tea, when you're settled. A day or two?" 

"Please, call me Dís. I'm afraid I'm going to have to take tea with you almost immediately to hear the story about the sheep.” 

Billa's smile is radiant. "Even better, Dís. And do, please call be Billa. I will do my best not to flatten you with questions, but I have so looked forward to meeting you. Let's get you to your rooms, honestly, what are we doing standing here? We've restored them as best we could, and I hope...oh, Frar," she says, turning to one of the guards. "Could you please send word Bombur I'd like to come down and help with the baking? I should like to make something nice for my new namadul. I hear, like all sensible people, you’re partial to chocolate, but I wanted to ask you if you had a particular favorite before I got started. The lads had conflicting...."

Dís sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes prickling. “He’s teaching you…”

Billa’s face falls a bit, gets careful. “I hope you’re not too scandalized. It’s such a beautiful language. I have enjoyed learning about your culture so very much.” 

She thinks of all the taunts and jeers and insults they’ve endured over the decades, all those that turned them away or turned them out. Her eyes fill with tears again, and she reaches out both hands for her Billa. 

“Namadul,” is the best she can do to express her weary, relieved delight. “I have always wanted a sister.” 

“I have, too.” Billa whispers, her own eyes shining with tears. “I have, too.”


	2. For A Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from gnomerino: What was the very first thing that attracts Bilbo (or Billa) to Thorin? I mean, first-first? Before there was anything real there? What was the catalyst?

Thorin Oakenshield was handsome, anyone with eyes could see that, a character straight out of one of those novels she and Primula used to giggle over. Tall, regal bearing (though that might come with the job) and, because Billa had a chance to watch him, an interesting combination of sensual and austere. He humbly ate a simple bowl of soup and - based on the behavior of the other dwarves - she expected him to curl his lip and demand more, but he took it with a polite nod of thanks. 

His clothes were richly textured, his hair extravagantly long and beautiful, not rough like some of the other dwarves, but well tended, and very simply dressed. He looked an interesting puzzle, but not interesting enough to overlook that dismissive "grocer" comment or fling herself off into the wherever to confront a _dragon._

Billa could sympathize with the reason for the quest; home and all it implied in comfort and security was essential, and she couldn't even think of how awful it would be to have been driven out so horribly, to run away from life and loved ones and not even have the barest second to gather anything to bring with you.

She could sympathize with it, but she just couldn't get her mind around the enormity of the task - a dragon - or months of long travel or, she could barely say the word, _burglar_ job? She was a Baggins of Bag End, and a Baggins was not a _burglar._

Then he sang. A deep, beautiful voice that seemed to cause some sort of tremor, some deep, inward vibration in her chest, as if he were calling her to come closer. No order, but an invitation, slow, warm and golden, sure. She shook her head, half-scolding herself as her eyes filled with tears. 

And the song he sang! So full of love and hurt and pride, it caught her breath and made her understand a bit better why. It seemed as if she could hear Thorin's voice above all the others, low though it was, longing to go home, longing for the best for his people, longing, longing. 

She rubbed a hand between her breasts, as if to pluck out the hook that he set in her heart. She wasn't going. She wouldn't, she didn't. She was just a simple hobbit. She wished them the best, she truly did. And Gandalf, going on about the quest failing without her and what a bunch of rubbish that was. Trying to make up for missing Mother's last days and funeral, she reckoned. Pfft. Whatever reason they wanted her, no matter how roundaboutly or gruffly or sweetly (which they hadn’t tried) asking, this quest was not for the likes of her. The dinner party had been adventure enough, thank you. 

Bella closed her eyes, hand over her heart as if to protect it, and let his, let _their_ deep voices lull her to sleep. 

Adventure enough, thank you _very_ much. 

When she woke the next morning, her house rang with silence, and she found herself longing for music, longing so much it ached. A thought, a tug or two on that hook in her heart and she was gone, gone, off on adventure for the price of a song. One sung by a particular singer.

~~~~


	3. The Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cardeakelsey asked you:  
> Hey, the "what did Billa thought about Thorin when she first saw him" mini-fic was lovely and as I have been thinking about the other side of the coin for quite a while, here it is:  
> 1\. What did Thorin thought when he felt the longing in the Shire?  
> 2\. What did he thought when he finally arrived and saw Billa for the first time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a wee bit angsty.

~~~~

Thorin rode through the dusk, staring as best he could at the green fields and flowers and cozy homes of these Hobbits. He'd learned, over the years, to see wealth in more than gems and metals, but read the signs of what a place valued, and this place was rich. Anything he’d ever seen or heard about hobbits bleated on about their love of gardening and and eating and dancing and comfort. The wizard had told tales of one of Baggins’ ancestors who fought and killed a goblin king. Likely story. He shook his head and set his shoulders. A hobbit was, sadly, essential, and Gandalf had picked out this Baggins. Fine. 

He rode a few moments in silence, the sounds and smells of a settled, peaceful place rising around him, and felt a wash of contentment, and then a glowing, burning ache in his breast. He stopped the pony and took a few deep breaths, but the ache persisted, a small bright jewel under his heart. 

It had been awhile since he’d eaten, Thorin thought, as he began to ride again, perhaps that. Perhaps it was just hunger. 

It wasn’t. The closer he got to Hobbiton, the more the ache pulled him forward, and Thorin, with a hiccuping gasp, realized what it was. The Longing. He’d never….he’d put aside such hopes decades ago, decades, thinking possibly that his One had died in Erebor, when the dragon came, an infant or youth not of age, someone he wouldn’t have felt The Longing for because they were too young. 

He never believed his sister when she ventured that maybe his One was somewhere else in Arda. After all, Durin walked the land and found a wife in the wilds of the world, and no one knew who or what she was. And Mahal had made only six wives for the seven fathers so it stood to _reason_....

Thorin stopped again, staring at the sign to pointing to Bag End, trying to master this new, intrusive feeling. He had no _time_ for a spouse now. Distraction, danger - it was bad enough putting his sister-sons in harm’s way, even knowing they’d have followed him had he refused them joining the company - but to have his One by his side, knowing the dangers that they faced? He had watched too many of his family, his friends die, die or slip away in their minds right before him. Why, why did this have to come now? 

He could see the lights around a merry green door, the glowing wizard’s rune upon it, from far down the lane. The closer he rode to that small, merry home, the more pressing the ache in his breast became. His One was in there, in that home, he was certain now. He turned the pony around and galloped away. 

Giving the pony it’s head for a time, he just ran, ran from everything this meant, ran from something he’d desired so much in his youth, so much that he devoted time to learning more than just the usual rights and duties of marriage, but poured over books teaching how to strengthen the bonds of love through playful, passionate joining. He had made himself as ready to be a husband as he had a warrior, and had locked that all away after the dragon, after his adad disappeared. There was no time, and too many people to care for, to lead. He had no time then, he had no time now. No time. 

The Longing pulled at him, and his thoughts turned to thinking of what a comfort it might be, a joy to have someone he could just be himself with, not a king. Not the one carrying the burden of a people, of a mountain _and_ a dragon on his shoulders, just him. 

He rubbed his chest, as if to soothe (or smother) the ache and turned his face toward that door, knowing which way to go in the fallen night, not even needing to truly look where he was heading, because a strand of mithril ran from his heart to his One’s, an unbroken shining tether with which he could find them anywhere. 

He clucked his tongue at the pony, and turned toward his responsibilities, and his One, hope and dread in his heart. 

~~~~

She was beautiful, smooth-faced, exotic. Large, luminous (furious, confused) eyes, tawny indescribably glorious hair, tumbling around her shoulders in waves. She was deliciously curvy, but so small and fragile and clearly, so clearly, unused to hard labor or travel. 

He would sneer at this pampered creature, snug and likely smug in her tidy well-crafted home, despite the wave of protective feeling that rose in his heart, along with a blazing anger at the wizard. Belladonna Baggins would _not_ be traveling with him. He would _not_ take such an innocent into the world, he couldn’t bear to take responsibility for leading her to her death. 

Thorin grasped at the first derisive thing he could think of and called her a grocer, and had to turn away immediately from the flash of anger and spirit which brought rubies to her cheeks. 

He would deny her and save her life, no matter the cost to himself. 

His ragtag company had provided discouragement enough, down to causing her to faint from fear (it had taken a great deal to let others tend to her) and when Billa apparently retired for the evening after a long chat with the wizard, Thorin choked down a half-relieved half-sobbed sigh. They would find another hobbit, Gandalf would just have let it go. Let her go. 

She had given no indication that she recognized anything in Thorin, had not felt his heart calling to hers. Or if she did, she hid it well, in her nerves and fear. He would not allow himself to watch her too closely. Perhaps it took longer for hobbits to feel The Longing. Perhaps they did not feel it at all. 

Rubbing over the ache in his heart, Thorin stared into the fire, her fire, surrounded by all the cozy belongings of his One. A part, a tiny, grieving, part of him cried out because be dared not stop here, in all this warm, soft comfort. That he could not set down his burdens to reach for her, the other half of his soul. Could not know her. Love her. No matter what he desired. He would never love another. They would never meet again. How could he deny her now, then expect forgiveness? He wished things were different, but when had wishes ever served him? 

He sang. Sang to remind the company what they sought, what they could be again, sang to strengthen his own resolve. Sang to say goodbye to her, Belladonna. Billa. 

He poured all the love and longing and grief he could into the song, hoping hoping, that it would ease some of the ache. 

It did not.

~~~~


	4. Auntie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asks: I love Fili and Kili's reaction to Billa and Thorin…could you go more into depth about what they think about them being together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amad = Mother

~~~~

Fili is silently congratulating himself over and over about having _known it_ , despite Uncle’s gruff assertions that he was thinking majestic, planning sort of thoughts. 

He truly likes Billa, and as a not-so-secret nurturer, longs to be a bit better friends with her, and to do some of the small things he does for her that he does for Amad that make life on the road far more comfortable. Comfortable for her and comfortable for him in that he doesn’t have to complain about the pebbles under his own bedroll because he can worry about hers.

Looking after Kili is all well and good, but he’s always felt a certain sort of contentment, looking after his amad. He hopes Billa - and Uncle - will allow him to do the same. 

He’s snuck as many cups of tea to her or wiped down her pony as much as he could, without drawing her curiosity or the glowers of Uncle. He’s just grateful that they finally figured it out they love each other. He was afraid they were going to have to lock them in a room or something. 

Amad might box his ears to think he thinks a grown female might need tending unlooked and unasked for, but she’d understand if she knew how much it keeps is mind off their troubles. At least a little.

~~~

Kili is happy for Uncle and Billa, he really is, truly, and will do his best to communicate that to him when they’re not _kissing in public_ all the time. 

He looks forward to the day that they settle down, for Mahal’s sake, so he can visit more freely with Billa, who always has a merry story or two up her sleeve, and maybe, just maybe, because they’re soon to be family, it might be all right to ask her to finger-comb or actually comb his hair like Amad does before the fire at night. It helps him sleep and keep the nightmares at bay like nothing else. Fili tries, but his fingers are too large and he falls asleep, hand tangled in Kili’s hair, more often than not, and it makes them both cross to have to untangle it. 

Uncle would understand. Amad does the same for him. They’re just not supposed to know about it. 

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am cracking myself up with the image of Fili falling asleep with his hand in Kili's hair, Kili having dozed off, too, and the resulting flailing and curses when they wake up and have to disentangle themselves. 
> 
> Thorin watches this, half facepalming, half grieving, because they're just _boys_. 
> 
> Lordy, I'm glad I didn't write the first half of the journey, I'd be bawling my eyes out over Thorin. 
> 
> RE: Nightmares. I think of Kili and Fili as young marines on their first tour, not much action seen. They can handle themselves, they've hunted and fought the occasional orc, but no extended battles. 
> 
> But they both have memories of poverty, insults and bullying and being driven out from town to town (the bad luck, the greed of dwarrow, "everyone" knows) before they settled in Erid Luin. Kili has nightmares about one night with fire and yelling and his mother and Fili screaming out in pain, sometimes. He dreams Uncle rushes back into the house and burns. Only Fili knows the details.


	5. Pearl

He had drifted, sunk sure in his failure to his One, to himself, his kin, his people, knowing he was dying, the smoke of the burning trees and the stink of the orcs in his nose, the crush of the Warg's bite nothing to the crushing thought that she would die defending him. He should have kept to his resolve, never let her come. Greedy. Too greedy. 

His last living sight had been Billa, tiny, terrified and brave, facing down his worst nightmare. He hadn’t the strength to tell her to run, to reach for his sword, though he tried, he did, and then the darkness took him. 

Thorin drifted, waiting for death, dreading the end to the pain of his deserved wounds, dreading entering the halls of his fathers stinking of fire and failure, but it did not come, it did not come, instead he could breathe again, the air was fresher and he felt nearly whole, nearly healed. He inhaled deeply and opened his eyes. The wizard. 

"The halfling?" 

"She is quite well…." Gandalf turned and there she was, sunlight gilding her face, expression so full of tenderness as she gazed at him. Not looking for praise, not waiting to crow her worth, but simply glad that he was well. Dirty and smudged, she glowed like a pearl in the morning light, so precious and rare, and his heart soared at the sight of her, and a breath later the horror he could have lost her flooded him in a river of ice. 

"You!" he croaked, fighting his way to his feet. Words fell from his lips, clumsy, and were clearly too close to the abuse that he’d been throwing at her the whole journey long. He watched all too familiar pain and uncertainty wash over her face, and could not bear it, he would not bear it, he was was too tired to find the proper words to ask for her, to tell her he was done with it, done forcing her away, that he loved her, that he was done denying the other part of his soul….

"I have never been so wrong in all my life," he choked out, and embraced her.


	6. Evening Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> niquesse asked: Oooh it's prompt time! Well I know and definitely love your fic 'Feast' (among all the others, because your Bagginshield dynamic is one of my favorites) and what came to my mind is the reaction of Thorin when he finds out his Queen is with /his/ child? In 'Feast' he was so sweet and happy and grateful and I would love to read about his reaction, thoughts and amazement (and all the happy kisses and cuddles!) I hope you have a wonderful day :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written originally as a prequel to ["Feast,"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/953068) which is a Pearl Universe tangent where their first child is not conceived until about five years after the reclaiming of Erebor. If you've not read that one, I suggest wandering over that way after reading this. 
> 
> Fair warning: I may or may not fold this into the "Pearl" universe proper. I approve of Billa's methods. :)
> 
> ~~~~

They have a long tradition of combing and braiding one another’s hair for the day, begun when they were first betrothed, but Thorin always takes longer (no matter what style he creates for her) because he knows Billa loves it, and he loves the way she sways in his arms and goes dreamy, and best of all, she sings. 

Little snatches of tunes, ones known to both of them, ones created by her mother, and ones conjured out of her own imagination, spurred on by this slow, quiet moment together. 

One morning, she felt a bit ill, and had gone back to bed, apologizing, assuring him it was just for a few hours. Nothing serious, just overtired. She’d been overtired a good bit lately, and Thorin was concerned. Dwarrow were rarely ill, and he didn't quite know what to make of it. And then another morning, and another. She promised she’d see Óin. 

He didn’t realize how much he missed those quiet moments with her until they weren’t there, didn’t realize how concerned he was until he was informed by Balin that he was an utter ass all day, and had been for the last three days.

“Go punch Dwalin or something until you feel better,” he snapped. 

“Gladly,” Dwalin rumbled and sneered, and that was just _it._ Thorin stalked off to the training ground and had a very pleasant near-brawl. Dwalin was even nice enough not to go for Thorin’s face, because it always upset Billa. 

Happily sore and in a much better humor, Thorin strolled into their quarters and there she was, glowing by the fire, hair unbound, a comb in her hand. She grinned at him and clucked her tongue playfully at the torn shoulder of his tunic.

“Have fun rolling in the dirt with Dwalin?” 

“I did,” he admitted, stretching a bit, and moved to her side. “And how are you, my love?” 

She looked up at him and wiggled the comb. “Missing you these past few mornings.” He leaned down to kiss her and she dodged him. 

“Not that I don’t love it when you smell all wonderful and male and….mmmm.” She put her hand to her chest, her lashes fluttering, clearly rallying her thoughts. “But you’re literally dripping with sweat.” She eyed him and shrank back in the chair a few more inches. Thorin rolled his eyes. 

“I also love it when you’re all warm and lovely from the bath.” She bit her lip delicately, desire darkening her eyes, and Thorin couldn’t help but stare. 

“I seem to recall a few council meetings starting late because of that, my queen,” he said as he backed toward the bathing room. “I seem to recall several instances _vividly_.” 

Billa tapped the comb against her lips, a secret smile curling the corners of her mouth. “All the more reason for a bath in the evening,” she said, voice low, a silver thread of laughter winding through it. “Plenty of time, after.” She shifted in the chair and her robe fell half-open, the curve of her breast beneath her thin nightgown a promise. 

“Wait right there,” he said, his voice rough. 

“Of course, dearest,” she replied demurely. 

When he came back from his (quick but thorough) bath, he was sorry to see she’d tied her robe. Billa was staring into the fire, humming softly, idly running the comb through the very ends of her hair. 

“I believe that’s my job,” Thorin said, plucking the comb from her hands. He bent down for a kiss, and she arched into it slowly with a happy hum, hand on his cheek. She wound her arms around his neck and tugged at him until he bent low enough for her bury her nose in the crook of his neck and inhale deeply. 

“Mmm, freshly washed husband,” she murmured, stroking his bare shoulders. Thorin chuckled and untied her robe, slipping a hand in to curve around her breast, warm and heavy in his palm. Billa sighed and pressed into the touch, lifting her face for a kiss. 

“Certain you wish me to comb your hair?” he whispered, lips barely touching hers. 

“Oh, please, first?”she breathed. “I really did miss it.” 

“As my queen commands,” he replied, and slipped behind her in the chair, made to fit the two of them, an indulgence he was grateful for daily. 

She swayed and hummed as he tended to her, picking out a soft tune that, once she was satisfied, she hummed from start to finish several times, as if committing it to memory. The third time she ran through it, she left off humming and sang the notes in her warm, sweet voice, and he sang with her, low support under the tune, something he might use to accompany her on his harp. Her voice wavered with emotion and she clutched his knee, but kept singing. When she was done, he wrapped his arms around her. 

“What a lovely tune,” he whispered. “Does it have words?” 

“Yes,” she said, grasping his arms tight. Her voice was thick. 

“Billa?” 

She turned in his arms, and tears stood in her eyes. “It’s a lullaby.” 

He cupped her cheek. “One of your mother’s tunes?” 

A tiny shake of the head, and her smile was radiant. “Not Mother’s.” 

His own throat grew tight, hope rising, and it took him a moment to find his voice. “Billa?” 

“Mine,” she whispered, took his hand, and put it on her belly. “And yours.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Comb](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166055) by [hufflepuff_true](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflepuff_true/pseuds/hufflepuff_true)




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